


Dein Bestrafer Sein

by Wahnsinn



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Anxiety, BDSM, Discipline, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, POV First Person, Spanking, Surprise Pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:55:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22682836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wahnsinn/pseuds/Wahnsinn
Summary: Till Lindemann has performance anxiety. A friend helps him.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

The sound of wood meeting bare skin echoed in the room. Weak groans followed the loud thuds that came at a steady rhythm, _whack, whack, whack,_ until the volume of the groans increased, then turned into whimpering. “I’m not going to stop just because you are crying. I will stop when I think you have had enough.”

I had found him in the corner of the showers in his dressing room, curled up against the white tiles, face hidden against his knees, shaking. It was the start of a new tour, so it was not unexpected, but it was bad, worse than I had predicted. There had been signs, especially at the rehearsals I had seen his eyes drift and the occasional glimpse of fear. Yet up until this point, he had managed to stay somewhat collected. Then he disappeared, right after dinner, where he had barely touched his food.

While he had managed to get most of his stage outfit on, there was nothing about the man in the corner that suggested he was a rock star. I knew that I would have to go hard on him this time. Straightening myself up, I mentally prepared, thought through what I had to do, and took a deep breath.

“Till Lindemann, get up right now.” The walls of the bathroom made my voice sound a lot more booming than it really was. From the corner, I could see a head move, and two blue eyes snapped open. Our gazes met. He looked like a trapped animal, completely still, afraid to move or even breathe.

“You don’t want me to have to repeat myself.” I crossed my arms and stared at him, dead serious. The words and the stare seemed to have the desired effect. Muscular arms slipped away from the heavy straps of the stage boots. Slowly, Till started to stretch his limbs. A stern look made him get up faster, his legs wobbly, he had to lean against the cold tiles in order not to fall.

I moved towards him. As soon as Till stood straight, I grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him out of the bathroom. He didn’t resist. Eyes downcast, Till followed meekly out into the dressing room. I pointed him to a chair, and he flopped down on it. A hand under his chin forced him to look at me.

“Talk to me.”

Till swallowed. I could feel the broad jaw moving slightly as Till bit his lower lip, his head still held up, forcing eye contact.

“I…” Till’s voice failed him. He tried again. “I put on my stage outfit and imagined all the people outside. I got scared. It’s been a long time, you know, and… They will all be watching; they are here to see us, to see me. I’m afraid to fuck up, I feel like such a fraud. I don’t belong here.” He sighed, twisting his head away.

I was not having it. “Till.” With a swift motion, I grabbed Till’s chin, hard, forcing his head back to meet my stare. I leaned closer and lowered my voice. It sounded threatening. I wanted it to. “What have I said about putting yourself down like that? What have I said about nursing those thoughts over and over?”

Till swallowed again. “I panicked. I should have come to you as soon as the thoughts came to me. I’m sorry,” he muttered.

I let go of Till’s jaw, and gently caressed the vocalist’s cheeks, laying my hands to rest at his temples where the stubble of the buzz cut hair tickled my fingertips. “Yes, you should have come to me. You know I am always here for you. And I know you are sorry. But you know I must punish you for this. You remember your words?”

He nodded. I gently stroked the big man’s cheeks again, before pulling him into an embrace, his head heavy against my stomach. For a moment I contemplated letting him off easier, but I quickly shook that thought away. I needed to re-establish the rules. This was going to be a long tour. Till’s head had to be in the right place. I let go of him and moved over to the dresser.

“You know the drill.” Without looking, I could hear Till stand up. With slow steps, the singer walked over to the couch and stood behind it, shifting uneasily when he saw me pull the massive wooden paddle up from the drawer. Polished and lacquered black, it felt heavy and smooth in my hand. It had indeed been a long time since I held it the last time.

I noticed Till’s discomfort, but knew it had to be done. Briskly, I walked over to join him by the couch. The muscular man standing there looked a lot smaller than his stature. Putting the paddle down, I took Till’s hands in mine, rubbing the back of the broad hands softly.

“Tell me,” I demanded. “Now. And mean it,” I added, when Till hesitated.

Till looked down, sighed, then lifted his head and his eyes met mine. The tiny, red ponytail fell to the side of his head. Then he spoke up, voice strong and confident. “I am Till Lindemann. I am a great vocalist in the best band in the world, and the audience is going to love me. Please punish me for forgetting this.”

I smiled at him. With swift motions, I let go of his hands, reached for the double pronged belt buckle and unfastened it. Till whimpered quietly in embarrassment as I started unbuttoning his pants. Then I stood back. Till knew I wanted him to pull them down himself. He froze for a second, which was too long. My eyes shot into his, and he regained the ability to move, quickly pushing his snakeskin pants and his briefs to his knees.

With a hand on his arm I turned him around so he could bend over the back of the couch, the soft cushion against his belly. I could see him bracing himself by placing his hands on the seat. Then he closed his eyes, waiting. He shuddered when I pulled his top away from his naked bottom.

Resting a hand against his broad back, I picked up the paddle with the other. It weighed heavily in my hand. “Why am I doing this?” I asked.

Till kept his eyes closed. “To help me. Because you care about me,” Till responded quietly, through gritted teeth; he knew what was coming.

Yet, the first stroke almost took his breath away. The force of it pushed the large man against the back of the couch. A moment later I could see that the pain kicked in, the burn with sharp edges that I knew would spread on his naked ass, and just as it was about to start fading, the next stroke followed. 

I knew exactly what I was doing. The rhythm was well rehearsed, tested, and perfected for maximum impact and minimal damage, and I was damn good at keeping a rhythm. Paying attention to both cheeks, I made sure they were both properly covered with hard swats that coloured them red, then blue with the characteristic white centre area.

Till tried for the longest time to stay stoical. He always did. I admired that, yet in the end, it did not matter. Sooner or later, he would start making sounds. Those were my cues. After increasingly louder groaning, the whimpering would start. And then, when the tears started flowing along with muffled sobs, I knew I was getting through.

When I could see Till’s body letting go and relaxing through the smacks of the paddle, I finally took a break. Walking around the couch, I could see Till hanging across the pillows, body limp, shaking a little as he cried. Crouching down beside him, I put my hand on his head, stroking the red mane.

“It’s good to cry. Just let it out, all the anxiety, all your fears.”

Those words always made him cry harder. I sat by him until he calmed down, and only sniffles could be heard now and then.

“I am going to finish this off now, okay?” I said quietly. He swallowed, sighed, then gave me an almost invisible nod. I stood up and walked back around the couch. Till’s bottom was heavily discoloured. He flinched as I ran my fingers across the left cheek. I could feel the heat and the hardness of the skin, and I knew this was going to hurt. A lot.

“Ten more.”

I lifted the paddle and swung it at maximum force. Till gasped, and a loud groan slipped out through his lips. This time I waited longer before the next stroke, but it was delivered with the same force, directly at the same spot. Halfway in, Till was wailing, and as the last stroke hit his abused bottom, I was sure that I had accomplished what I needed.

Putting the paddle away, I leaned over to help Till up. The singer groaned as he pushed himself to a stand, face streaked with tears, and I embraced him warmly as he let the last of his tears flow onto my shoulder.

“You did good. You are strong, my Tilly. Don’t you ever forget that,” I whispered.

Soon after, I sat on the couch with Till’s head against my chest. I had draped a blanket over him as he lay there on his side, just breathing slowly, in and out, while I held him, caressed him, made sure he felt safe and comfortable.

Time passed, too fast, as usual. Concert start was getting closer, and I still had to get dressed. “You need to go to make-up soon,” I said, lowering my head to kiss Till’s hair. The muscular body moved a bit. Till let out a deep breath, and slowly sat up, wincing a little as he put weight on his bruised bottom. It was cute.

“Bit sore?” I smiled at him and playfully poked a finger into the side of his hip.

Till didn’t reply, he just grumbled, rolled his eyes, and shook his head at my silly question. “That’s the Tilly I know; the rock star is back!” I grinned and leaned over to give him a loud kiss on the cheek.

Till smiled at the gesture, then grit his teeth as he got up, grimacing while pulling his briefs and pants back up. “You should get dressed too, you know,” he commented dryly, grabbed my arm, and pulled me out of the couch with strong arms. I took the opportunity to slap his butt lightly.

“Don’t push it!” he warned me. Then his expression softened, and his blue eyes met mine.

“Thank you,” he said, heartfelt and sincerely. “I wouldn’t be able to do this tour without you, Paul.”

I took his hands in mine and squeezed them, hard.

“I’ll be there for you all the way. I promise.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How it all started.

Till was fantastic on stage. I almost missed a start in «Was Ich Liebe» because I was too preoccupied listening to his voice. He got the crowd roaring with his gestures and his wonderfully expressive face. Several times during the show, I found myself staring at him, and several times, our eyes met. I could see the genuine gratitude in his face.

To think that not long ago, the powerful vocalist and front figure of Rammstein had been a nervous wreck balled up in the showers was almost absurd. Yet I saw how his body relaxed and his face showed relief when he could, for just a brief moment, leave the attention to someone else. Still, Till seemed to enjoy himself on stage, and I was happy about that. Our session had done its job, as so many times before.

Our arrangement had started many years ago. The first time the topic came up was during the filming of the «Sonne» music video. Of course, the other guys had unanimously decided that I was the lucky one to get spanked by Snow White and get my naked butt shown to the entire world. Then again, I was never a shy guy to begin with, and we had shared many laughs during the filming of that scene. The faces of the other guys trying to look scared from anticipation were hilarious, and the footage of Flake pulling down his pants had us howling in laughter.

Because of the fun we had had with the scene, it didn’t strike me as odd when Till brought up the subject later that night. The others had gone to bed. I had drunk too much coffee and sat on the balcony of the hotel room we shared, waiting to get tired, when Till joined me. He dropped down into a chair, with a sigh. I had a feeling he wanted to say something, so I actually stayed silent even though I really wanted to ask him what it was. A couple of times I heard him open his mouth and draw in a quick breath, but nothing came out. He sighed again, then laughed a little. “That scene today, that was really something,” he finally said, his tone of voice a bit odd.

“Which scene? The spanking scene?” I replied, a tiny bit disappointed, since I had thought he was about to tell me a secret. Till made an affirmative sound. “Well, it was pretty hilarious,” I grinned, and looked at him, expecting him to be grinning as well.

He was not. Till’s face was dead serious. His eyes were big and sad, he sat slumped over with his head in his hands, and his whole posture screamed that something was bothering him. I almost leaped out of my chair, knelt next to him, and stared into the depths of blue.

“Till? What’s happening? What’s wrong?” I said, worried almost out of my mind. When he didn’t reply, I got even more desperate.

“Till Lindemann, you talk to me right now, or I’m going to make sure YOU will get your butt spanked as well!” I said, grabbing his shoulders, trying to sound serious and strict, hoping to get a smile, or a laugh, or at least some kind of response.

I damn well got a response. His whole body tensed, his eyes shot into mine, and there was real desperation in the look he gave me. “You will?” he said, with a sincerity that left no doubt that this was something he wanted, no, it was something he craved.

The sudden revelation made me flabbergasted. Although I tried not to look shocked, Till instantly felt my reaction, and looked down once again, his whole body almost deflating. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,” he muttered, dejected.

“No, Till, don’t be sorry…” I started, mind still trying to process what I had just learned. It was no secret that Till liked pain. After all, he had flogged himself on stage during Bestrafe Mich, he liked the pain from the pyro, and he didn’t hesitate headbutting the microphone until he bled. Yet this was something different, and I needed to find out what exactly it was.

“…I was just surprised, that’s all. Please. Tell me more.”

I quickly let go of Till’s shoulders to drag my chair closer, setting it down facing his. Dropping down into it, I put my hands on his knees and leaned forward, waiting for him to speak. He didn’t. Till had fallen silent again, I could hear his shallow breathing, his body tense like a guitar string. I had to try another strategy.

“Till Lindemann. Talk to me, now. Don’t make me ask again.” I realised I sounded almost like a parent scolding his child, it felt a bit odd, but it worked. Where Till totally ignored the friendly and concerned me, he instantly reacted to this tone of voice. He looked up at me from under black bangs, his puppy eyes big, blue, and vulnerable.

I lifted a hand and gently caressed his cheek before resting my palm at his neck. He sighed at my touch, and took a deep breath. “I… You know how I have stage fright, right?”

I nodded.

“I have so much of that same anxiety now, I don’t understand why since we are only shooting a video, but it’s there, and it’s almost paralyzing. Then today, when I saw you getting spanked, I remembered how calming the flogger used to be during Bestrafe Mich. I couldn’t stop thinking how I wanted to be the one to get spanked, just to release all the stress, and to have someone tell me what to do so I didn’t have to think – overthink – analyse everything. And then I thought perhaps you could...”

Till’s voice started drifting off, and he looked away. I could see how shameful he felt telling me this, and my heart hurt for him while I also had this strange feeling of happiness that he had chosen to share this with me. “Why me? Why not Schneider, he was in the military and all,” I asked softly, I had to know.

He huffed. “Because with Schneider, everything is a show. This is not for fun, Paul. I want this to be serious. I want it to hurt so much that I don’t have to think, and I am afraid of doing it myself, because I don’t feel like I can control it. You care a lot, I know you would never cross the line where it would be dangerous for me, and I know you would be able to pick me up again easily afterwards because – because you’re Paul dammit, you’re always so happy.”

Even though our topic was serious, I had to smile, which I could see worried Till. “I’m not smiling at what you said, Till. I am just so flattered,” I offered, and he relaxed a little, though still fairly tense. I realised it was anticipation. He was waiting for me to give him a reply.

Mind racing, I tried to think how this would play out, but I drew a blank. “Suppose I agreed to this…” I started, and a glimmer of hope spread in Till’s face. “…what exactly do you have in mind? What would you want me to do?”

Till shifted uneasily in his chair. “I haven’t really thought about that a lot. I just know I really want to have someone there for me when the anxiety kicks in and I start overthinking everything. That’s when I need someone to snap me back into it, or I guess, slap me back into it.”

He frowned at his own bad joke. I giggled a little, mostly because of how surreal the whole situation was. Till Lindemann, my friend, my colleague, the vocalist of Rammstein asking me to do this felt absurd, yet strangely exciting. He looked so lost and helpless, and the fact that he had asked me, the tiny guitarist whom the other band members enjoyed teasing about that fact, made my heart almost burst.

“We will figure it out,” I heard myself say. “Of course I will help you, Till. You’re my friend, I care a lot about you.”

For a second, Till looked confused, as if he didn’t believe what he had just heard. Then, as his brain processed what I had said, the relief showing in his face was indescribable. It looked like the weight of the world was lifted from his shoulders, and before I knew it, he had scooped me out of my chair and held me tightly in the biggest bear hug I had ever received.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Almost smothered in his embrace, I just hummed and nodded against his broad shoulder. I could feel how his body relaxed and his breathing calmed down and blended in with the sounds of the Berlin night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time.

“Ow! This fucking hurts!”

I frowned and shook my hand furiously, palm red and sore after repeated contact with Till’s surprisingly hard butt. Till, on the other hand, who was laying across my lap, pants and underwear at his ankles, was almost rolling off my legs because he was laughing so much.

“You have to hit harder than that! I guess there is something in the whole ‘this will hurt me more than it will hurt you’ saying that I’ve heard!” he chuckled. His butt cheeks were barely pink, while my hand was a fierce red and felt almost swollen.

“Come on, Till, if you mock me, I won’t do this at all,” I grumbled.

Till finally managed to get his laughter under control. “I’m sorry. I am not really laughing at you, it’s just nerves, I think. I really appreciate you doing this for me,” he said, still with a silly smirk on his face, but I could see that he meant it.

After his confession the night before, we had gotten up early to talk things through before we had to head to location for another day’s video shoot. Till wanted serious pain, but not serious injuries. We also needed to make sure that any marks would be covered by clothing or worst case, makeup. Straight up spanking was the obvious choice. After agreeing on a safeword – Snow White seemed appropriate – we had some time before we had to leave, and we decided to test how much pain I could dish out with my hand. The answer was – not much.

“You have a god damn iron ass,” I dryly remarked, looking pitifully at my hand. “I am going to need some kind of implement, or my hand will be destroyed, and then Rammstein will be one guitarist short.”

“Rammstein already has a short guitarist,” Till chuckled as he stood up. I gave him a death stare and started roaming the hotel room for something that could save my hand from misery and instead put Till in some. To my delight, I found a long shoehorn made of plastic in the closet by the door. I flicked my wrist a couple of times. The shoehorn snapped through the air, it seemed bendy, while sturdy enough to pack a sting. Testing it against my own palm, then my thigh, I was pleased to find that it certainly did.

“Okay, Lindemann, bend over the chair and get ready for a good spanking,” I said, using the most fake, strict voice I could muster, waving my newfound treasure. I turned towards him with a stupid grin on my face, but the grin quickly turned into surprise when I realised that my serious voice, as fake and playful as it was, had the same effect on Till as it had the night before.

The vocalist had already followed my order. Bent over the back of the chair with his hands on the seat, he was no longer laughing or grinning. His eyes were downcast, and he stood there in position, pants and underwear still at his ankles, waiting for me.

Seizing the moment, I decided to stay in character and see what happened. I slowly strode towards him, tapping the shoehorn against my palm. Till didn’t move or look at me. I placed my hand at his lower back, and he shuddered a little from the touch.

“So,” I said, keeping my voice low-pitched and stern. “Tell me, why are you getting punished?”

Till sighed. “Because… Because I overthink and overanalyse so much that it almost makes me unable to function from the stress and anxiety. Because I keep putting myself down and telling myself that I am not good enough.”

“Yes,” I said. “And there is one more thing you are being punished for.”

I could see that Till was confused by this. He stirred a bit, and his head moved just a little so that I could see him throw me a questioning glance.

“You laughed at me,” I reminded him. “You wanted serious, well, this is serious. You will not laugh at me during your punishments, I will not tolerate disrespect. You can talk to me and ask questions at any time if you need to, but I expect it to be relevant. Also, you will reply whenever I ask you something. Is this understood?”

I could almost hear gears inside Till’s head moving by my sudden shift in demeanour. He turned his head and looked at me, surprised at first. Then his facial expression shifted into one of acceptance and submission, and he hung his head.

“I need a reply, Lindemann. Is this understood?” I repeated, and gave him a sharp whack on the butt with the shoehorn. He flinched from the unexpected pain. I grabbed his hair, turned his head towards me, and bent down so my face was really close to his.

“When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer me,” I said slowly, emphasising each word. I looked him straight in the eye, Till’s pupils dilated, his eyes flickering slightly. He struggled keeping eye contact, but whispered a quiet “yes”.

“I can’t hear you,” I said, tightening the grip of his hair.

“Yes,” he managed.

“Good. Thank you.” I released the grip and let my fingers run through his hair, caressing the back of his head and neck, feeling Till’s muscles relax. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. I squatted down and pulled him into an awkward embrace, letting his head rest on my shoulder as I kept gently caressing his neck.

It surprised me how easily I had fallen into this role. In fact, it felt natural, and it felt good. Though the clock was ticking, and I needed to get down to business before we had to leave. I stood up. Till made a complaining grunt as I pulled away and moved to position myself behind him. His bare bottom had almost lost the tiny amount of colour my hand had been able to produce. I tapped the shoehorn against his cheeks, and Till let his upper body slump down against the back of the chair.

“It is time for your punishment. Do you remember your words?” I asked. Till replied almost instantly. I smiled. He had clearly picked up the message.

I lifted the shoehorn and brought it down on Till’s butt. The sound of plastic against skin seemed almost unnaturally loud. Till hissed from the sting, and I could see pink line appearing almost instantly. Pleased, I did it again, then again, subconsciously falling into the rhythm of Sonne, delivering a stroke every second beat.

Till’s reaction was remarkably different from when I had used my hand. At the start, he didn’t make much sound, but I could see how he braced himself before each impact. As his butt got redder, he started groaning. Now and then, I stopped to check the damage, but the shoehorn was doing its job nicely without breaking skin, and I quickly got back into the rhythm.

Till managed to hold position well, but the groans were getting louder. I started focusing on the tender skin just where the butt meets the thighs. The reaction was immediate. Till whimpered, his knuckles white as he clung to the seat of the chair as if holding on for his dear life.

“You don’t have to be strong right now. I am here. I will make sure you are safe. Just let go,” I said softly, though without stopping.

The big body draped over the chair suddenly went limp. Whimpering turned into soft sobs, and soon, Till’s shoulders were shaking as he cried loudly.

“That’s good. Let it out,” I said soothingly. “We are almost done. I am just going to finish up here.”

Slowing down, I delivered ten blows at full force. Dropping the shoehorn to the ground, I gently nudged Till’s arm, aiding the crying man up to a standing position for a warm hug. I carefully lead him to his bed and helped him lie down on his side. Then I climbed in beside him and pulled him into a warm embrace which made him cry even harder against my chest.

“You did good, Tilly. I’m proud of you,” I whispered, running my hand soothingly through his hair until his sobs turned into sniffles. Eventually his breathing calmed down.

“Thank you,” he said, barely audible. We lay there in silence for a while longer. Till and I had known each other for years, yet I had never felt this close to him before. I felt something that reminded me only of fatherly love, I wanted to be there for him always, protect him from everything bad.

An alarm reminded us that we had to get ready to head for the shoot. Till sluggishly moved to turn it off, swearing as he rolled onto his back and his bruised bottom. “Not laughing anymore?” I chuckled.

“Not funny, Landers,” Till snickered, but he couldn’t suppress a smile.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

“Paul! Till! Can I borrow your shoehorn? The one from our room has gone missing, I have no idea where it is!” Oliver poked his head through the open door as we were heading to location to continue our video shoot, his tall boots in his hand.

Till and I looked at each other. While the shoehorn had worked really well, we had found a crack in it after the heavy abuse it had to endure. Next thing I knew, Till had raided the other rooms, grabbing all the shoehorns without the others noticing, stashing them in his suitcase. No one uses that stuff anyway, was his reasoning.

“Shoehorn? I don’t think we have one?” I said, slowly inching sideways to hide the trash can from Olli’s view while trying to look as innocent as possible.

The bassist dug through our closet, obviously coming up empty-handed. “I was so sure we had them… Guess I have to try the reception. Thanks anyway,” he sighed.

As soon as he was out the door, Till and I looked at each other again, then we burst out in laughter. “Well shit,” Till smirked, “I guess someone used those after all.”

Till was in a great mood. I kept an eye on him throughout the day. He was relaxed on the set, cracked jokes and laughed, and all his scenes had been excellent. Nothing seemed to faze him, not even multiple takes or long periods of waiting. There was no trace whatsoever of any kind of anxiety. Till was confident, his acting better than ever, and he would randomly praise the rest of us for our performances, which pushed everyone to give a little extra.

A few times I caught him grimacing while sitting down, and once I couldn’t help but discreetly pinch his butt, which earned me a hiss and a snarl before Till went back to his unusually happy self.

“Who spiked Till’s milk this morning?” Flake mused during lunch.

“Did he get laid last night, or what?” Richard wondered, looking at me with a wide grin, earning a giggle from Oliver.

“Don’t look at me that way, if anything, he’d go after your curvy ass, not me,” I shot back at him.

“Whatever, Paul, just keep doing whatever you did. This Till is pleasant,” Schneider said, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively. I punched his arm just as Till dumped down at the table, tray in hand and a smile on his face. The vocalist suddenly found that everyone in the band was staring at him.

“Did I miss something?” he asked, puzzled.

“We were just making fun of Paul,” Richard said, quickly shoving more food into his mouth so he wouldn’t have to elaborate. The others took his cue and did the same, and everyone was suddenly really interested in the plates in front of them.

Till looked at me quizzically, but didn’t pursue it further. Instead, I smiled to myself when I noticed that he shifted a bit in his chair, trying to find a comfortable position, before he gave up with a sigh and started eating his lunch.

The two of us didn’t get a chance to talk until we got back to the hotel room that night. I had found my usual chair at the balcony, leaning back with my legs stretched, taking in the silence after a long and exhausting day of work. The shuffling of feet made me turn my head. Till was standing in the doorway. He looked almost shy, black bangs hanging heavily across his forehead, hands in his pockets, shoulders hitched up high.

I gestured for him to come out and join me, putting my feet down, dragging a chair closer to mine. He obliged, and sat down in front of me, gingerly. “How is it,” I asked.

“Today I have been very aware that I have a butt,” he remarked with a crooked grin.

Then he lifted his head and stared me straight in the eye. “But Paul – it worked,” he said, his voice so soft and grateful that I almost melted in my chair. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I felt really good today. All my anxiety, just gone. It was such a relief – I almost felt high, I probably was due to the endorphins, but I felt free. Free!”

Till grasped my hand, clutching it almost desperately between his broad palms. “We have to do this again. We just have to. Please.”

I smiled at him. Till’s eyes had a vulnerability that I had seen glimpses of before, sometimes in photo shoots we had done. This close it was almost intoxicating, and at that point, I think Till could have asked me anything, and I would have complied. I leaned forward and rested my forehead against his, stroking his hair with my free hand. “Seeing you today made me really happy. Of course, we will do this again, Tilly. Anything for you.”

That night, Till pulled his bed next to mine, and we lay there talking in the darkness. We dissected everything about the session we had. The good. The bad. The parts that could be improved. How Till wanted it. How I wanted it. How we could make it work in a band with six people often living more or less on top of each other.

“I think we at least agree that we can discard you using your hand,” Till chuckled after a lengthy discussion about possible implements.

“For sure, it’s still sore!” I whined, holding my hand up, clenching and unclenching it.

Till leaned over. Big, rugged hands took hold of my hand and rubbed it gently before giving it a soft kiss. “Better now?” he chuckled. I grunted affirmatively, and Till took the hint and kept rubbing my palm while letting my hand rest on his chest.

“I have to say I am surprised at the sting of that shoehorn, though,” he mused. “That bastard stung like hell. I can still feel my butt now that I am lying down. Try that again tomorrow?”

He stopped rubbing my hand, and I could hear the anticipation in his voice. “Yeah,” I replied, and he let out a sigh of relief. “We have to get up early, then. Though we should think of the possibility of someone else hearing the sounds and maybe put on the tv or some music. It gets a bit noisy, and you were a bit noisy, too,” I laughed.

“Oh, fuck you, Landers. You couldn’t even stay serious at the start, you could barely keep a straight face when I pulled down my pants!”

“Well, fuck you too, Lindemann! It’s not like I’ve done this before, and talk about serious, you nearly rolled off my damn lap laughing your ass off at me! You know what, I’m glad that shoehorn worked, because you deserved that spanking!”

“Are you sure you want to say that right now, in this position?” Till chuckled mischievously. Suddenly, I felt my arm in a lock grip, and for a split second, I almost panicked.

“Let go!” I growled as the adrenaline rushed through my body. “I’m a guitarist, shit, I need my arm. Besides – that’s the one I use to beat your ass, so you might not want to break it.”

Till loosened up the iron grip, and I pulled my hand back and hid it under the blanket. “Aww, poor little Paul, did I scare you? Don’t pout,” he giggled.

“Till Lindemann… Are you mocking at me again?” I asked sternly, using the voice I now knew would have the desired effect. The giggling stopped. I could hear Till’s breathing getting strained and uneven. He let out a long sigh, then it calmed down again.

“You know, not that I had any expectations, but I never imagined you would be this good at being dominant,” Till mumbled.

I freed my arms from the blanket, rolled onto my side and reached out for him, pulling myself closer into a tight snuggle. “Me neither. But with you, it is easy,” I whispered, and let myself relax against his body. Till was warm, his breathing rhythmic and soothing, and soon after I felt myself drifting into a pleasant sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Everyone else was grinning or laughing. The lump in my stomach was growing bigger by the second. I felt uneasy, and I couldn’t even pinpoint exactly why. Faking a smile, I tried to shake the feeling. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice.

“Holy shit, you look amazing, Schneider!” Richard beamed, grabbing the drummer’s hand to inspect the carefully polished nails.

The transformation was indeed amazing. Our cheerful, sometimes awkwardly confused drummer had turned into a woman – no, a Frau. Fluffy, blonde curls were elegantly styled on his head. The skirt suit was perfectly fitted and displayed curves I didn’t even know that Schneider had. Long legs clad in pantyhose ended in heels matching the outfit, and the make-up was on point, accentuating the drummer’s soft features in a strict, but feminine way.

“That’s Frau Schneider to you,” Schneider replied, pursing his lips, slapping Richard’s hand away.

“And keep your dirty hands away from me, you naughty boy!” he said strictly to Till, who was already behind him, playfully groping his butt through the skirt.

The lump in my stomach grew even more when I looked at Till. He seemed mesmerised by the strong, female figure before us. I also knew how Schneider’s tone had affected him. Over the past few years, Till and I had developed the relationship we started during the filming of the Sonne music video. I had become his anchor, the grounding force when his anxiety or stage fright started taking hold. Through our sessions we had grown close, we had a deep friendship built on love, respect, and trust. I did not realise how much I, too, had come to depend on this relationship – until now.

“And we are going to be Schneider’s – dogs?” I said, voice a little more acerbic than intended.

“Zoran knows what he is doing, so I am sure it will look great in the video. Let’s just get it over with so we can be done and can go home,” Flake replied dryly.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Till looking at me. Demonstratively, I turned away from him and busied myself by untangling parts of my ripped-up suit.

A pale, slender hand landed on my shoulder. “Cheer up, Paul! At least you’re not the one wearing a loincloth!” Olli said, smiling a smile that was the totally opposite colour of his long, white-coated body, which was covered only by a fundoshi.

I couldn’t help but smile back, my grin equally dirty as his due to our tooth prosthetics. “We can’t all be fabulous like you, Olli,” I replied, giving him a playful pat on the butt. Though as soon as Olli turned away to go back to admiring Schneider, I fell back into my own dark thoughts.

Till was still standing by Schneider, but again I could see him looking at me with an expression on his face that I couldn’t fully read. He started moving towards me just as Zoran entered the room, holding five collars and leashes in his hand. “Time to go,” he commanded. I sighed, partly because I still felt uneasy, partly because I was relieved that I didn’t have to talk to Till right there and then.

“Cut! And we’re done!” Zoran’s words sounded like heaven. My hands and knees were sore after crawling up stairs and across asphalt, but I hardly noticed. I had been busy not looking at Till with his mouth pried open, snarling like an actual dog held back just by the leash in Schneider’s strong hand. Schneider’s hand. Not mine.

The realisation had hit me as soon as Till had the collar around his neck and the leash was snapped onto it. I was jealous. Really jealous. Schneider was perfect, almost too perfect. When he lifted his chin and looked down at us, his little doggies, even I could feel how I deep down wanted to be a good boy and please the Frau. And if I did, who didn’t consider myself even remotely submissive, I could only imagine what Till had to feel.

“How’s the littlest puppy doing?” A big hand ruffled my hair. Till could finally talk, I could see the marks around his lips where the plastic had kept them open, preventing him from closing his mouth. He seemed in a great mood though, which made me feel even worse.

“I’m fine,” I mumbled, avoiding looking him in the eye.

“Paul,” he said, grabbing my head, forcing me to look at him. “You’re coming with me to my place now that we are done with the shoot. The others are going to get a drink, I want to relax, and I want company.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Till grabbed my arm and more or less dragged me towards the car that would take us back to the studio and the dressing room. “I didn’t ask,” he said calmly.

A little more than an hour later, Till unlocked the door to his home and stepped inside. He had made sure I couldn’t slip away quietly after changing and showering, then he had shoved his bike into the back of my car, which left me with no choice but to drive him home. The car ride had taken place in what was for me an uncomfortable silence, for Till a pleasant change from the noisy shoot location. The lump in my stomach was still there, now with an added mixture of guilt, shame, and embarrassment. I had never been a jealous person, but now it was eating me up, and all I wanted was to be alone in my misery.

Till was not having it. “Come on in.” When I didn’t move, he grabbed my arm again, and pulled me through the door so he could close and lock it. Turning on the lights, he gestured towards the living room. I sighed, kicked off my shoes, and dragged my body over to a small couch where I sat down, heavily, staring blankly at the ceiling.

A bottle of beer showed up in my line of sight. “Here.” Till waved it in front of my eyes until I reached up to grab it. Then he sat down next to me and lifted his own bottle to his mouth to take a big swig.

We sat in silence for a while, just drinking our beers. Till seemed annoyingly relaxed. He finished his drink, put the bottle on the table, and shifted so that he faced me. His blue eyes were warm, with a hint of concern. Till didn’t say anything, he just stared at me, and even though I looked away, I could feel his eyes burning holes in my skin.

It didn’t take long before I cracked. “Stop staring at me,” I mumbled into my bottle, before lifting it to my lips to empty it, hoping the alcohol would numb me enough to make the uneasiness disappear. It didn’t.

Till just kept studying me, in silence. “What?!” I snarled, staring back at him, annoyed. In a swift motion, Till leaned over, grabbed me with his strong hands, and dragged me into a hug.

“What the hell, Till…” I started, making a half-hearted attempt at getting loose. Quickly realising it was futile, I stopped fighting it and let myself rest heavily against Till’s chest, his arms still wrapped around me. I could hear his heart beating, smell the familiar smell of him mixed with the beer from his breath. Till’s embrace was soothing, comforting, safe.

Suddenly l felt small and vulnerable. As the tension in my body slowly let go, I could feel the lump in my stomach moving towards my chest, my throat, my eyes...

I swallowed, blinking a few times, fighting back tears. Till just held me. I shifted a bit so I could pull my legs up onto the couch. We sat there in silence for a long time, Till sometimes caressing my arm, sometimes running his fingers through my hair.

When I finally spoke, my voice was hoarse. “I am just jealous, Till. Schneider is perfect as a dominant, I mean, even I could feel it. It scared me, I acted like an idiot. I am supposed to be the strong one, but look at me now. I’m sorry, Tilly. I totally understand if you want to ask Schneider if he can – take over.” The last words came out as choked whispers.

I could feel Till’s chest shaking from laughter, but it was a warm and friendly one, not mean-spirited. “Paul, Paul, Paul,” he said, “You are really cute when you are being silly.”

I huffed.

“Remember three years ago, you asked me why you and not Schneider? I wasn’t lying when I answered you,” Till said quietly. “Sure, I think Schneider was great today, and I had a lot of fun. Fun, Paul. It’s all a show. Our relationship is not for fun. It’s really important to me, and I can’t function properly without it, without you. I would never ask anyone else to do it.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. Unable to reply, I just sat there, biting my bottom lip, swallowing hard, trying not to break down completely.

“You are really good at seeing me when I am having a bad day. I see you too, Paul. I noticed your reaction today, but you tried to shut me out. Don’t. I want you to know that I am here for you, just like you are there for me. Our friendship is a lot more than just that one part,” Till continued, his voice like velvet in my ears.

A few tears ran down my cheek. I quickly brushed them away with the back of my hand. “Damn you, Lindemann,” I sniffled. “First you make me talk without saying a single word, then you start talking and make me cry.”

Till didn’t reply. He just kissed the top of my head, and held me even tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and with that, I end the story for now. I am fond of the relationship between the two characters, so there might be more chapters added at some point. Feel free to leave me comments should you have any. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Also, for anyone interested, [this photo](https://i.imgur.com/cWEFDUF.jpg) is my inspiration for this fiction.


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